


Gone, gone, baby, gone.

by reiley



Series: WIAD Home Game [4]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: writerinadrawer, F/M, Ficlet, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reiley/pseuds/reiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“A man has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self in the mirror of some woman's eyes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone, gone, baby, gone.

**Author's Note:**

> *written using the prompt: [4.02](http://community.livejournal.com/writerinadrawer/133866.html) \- This is my 2nd attempt, b/c for the 1st one I wasn’t aware that made up alien languages weren’t allowed. So I gave it another go.
> 
> orignally posted 06/27/10

* * *

He tightens his grip on his backpack, blearily opening his eyes. It’s just a pigeon flapping past, not the gate. Headphones askew, the “pleasant” female voice droning French in his ear, and he’s missed a few key phrases, but picks up repeating and committing to memory.

His back cracks as he shifts, uncomfortable bloody chair hard beneath his arse, but that old man’s been eyeing his seat for the last… He checks his watch: shit, coach should be here any minute now. London is far enough from home, but too fucking much the same. There’s gotta be more out there for him.

With a squeal and a clang, the gate opens and they call for passengers. He stands, stretches and slings his backpack over one shoulder, trainers scuffing the floor as he falls into the shuffle of people. Walkman (nicked) gets stuffed into a pocket; the tape (“borrowed” from a library) has started back at the beginning: _“Bonjour, je m'appelle Claire.”_

He bumps into someone, and echoes without thinking, “Bonjour, je m'appelle Ianto.”

The woman – most beautiful woman – smiles at him. “Bonjour, je suis enchantée de faire ta conaissance.” Her smile widens at what must be the dumbest look on his face. “I’m Lisa,” she says then, with a little laugh.

He nods. “Ianto. I mean, hi.” _Idiot._ “Sorry, for–”

She holds up one finger to him and taps the Bluetooth in her ear. “You’ve got it? Finally. I’m sure Ms. Hartman’s waiting _very_ patiently. I’m done and out.” Lisa turns back to him and gives him a long, contemplative look. “Would you like to get a coffee with me? Unless you’re..?” She gestures toward the gate.

“No. I’m not–” Ianto glances at the coach quickly filling up. “No, that would be good.”

He can always get the next one.

* * *


End file.
